


Agency

by starlightwalking



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aromantic Legolas, Arospec Gimli, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, Tolkien Gen Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Legolas finds his destiny, and chooses something else.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 21
Kudos: 64
Collections: Anna's A-spectrum Anthology, Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	Agency

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414653) by [starlightwalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking). 



> For [Tolkien Gen Week](http://tolkiengenweek.tumblr.com/) 2020, Day 5: Diversity! Me? Late to my own event? I mean honestly I'm shocked I managed to be on time the past four days...
> 
> This fic is a sequel to my Day 5 fic for the first TGW, back in 2018, "Destiny" (linked as inspiration). That fic was about Legolas' journey of self-discovery in realizing he's aromantic, and I always meant to continue it on to include some queerplatonic Gigolas, but I never got around to it - until now!!
> 
> Mostly movie-verse, with references to wider LOTR/Silm lore :)

Legolas did not want to like Gimli.

Firstly he was a _dwarf_ ; secondly he was the son of one of the dwarves who escaped from Mirkwood under Legolas' very nose; and thirdly he was openly dismissive of Legolas. It would have been easy to write him off entirely and stick close to Aragorn as they embarked upon the dark, uncertain path to Mordor.

But Aragorn was friends with the periannath in a way Legolas was not, and when he was not hovering protectively over the Ringbearer he was engaged in serious discussion with Boromir or Mithrandir—leaving Legolas, more often than he would have liked, with only Gimli for company.

It was only for the sake of Tauriel that Legolas made any attempt at civility around him. Tauriel had loved Kíli the Dwarf, Gimli's cousin, and in memory of her friendship he constrained most of his snide remarks.

(And, though he did not want to admit it, he was strangely _lonely_ in this Fellowship of nine, with his dearest friend preoccupied with the destiny that lay before him—that lay before them all—and none other to talk to. Gimli, at least, disturbed the solemn silence of his mind, though Legolas did not care for his manner of songs nor his gruff critiques of his bow-work.)

Looking back on this first stretch of their journey, Legolas laughed at the memory of their greatest problems being interpersonal tensions. After Moria—no, Khazad-dûm, that's what Gimli called it—and the loss of Mithrandir, such issues felt petty and trivial.

And Gimli—well. Legolas knew well the despair brought by the corruption of a homeland. The Greenwood was tainted, called Mirkwood by those who feared it, shrouded with darkness and dread. Having seen the same marks of the Enemy upon Gimli's ancestral home of Khazad-dûm, he felt some kinship with the dwarf. And Gimli had saved his life amid their pitched battle in Balin's tomb. To offer him companionship and comfort was the least Legolas could do.

"What do you want, elf?" Gimli demanded when Legolas approached him on their second night in Lothlórien.

"I thought you had warmed to my people," Legolas said, forcing himself to be mild. "You looked upon the Lady Galadriel with awe."

Gimli huffed. "You are nothing like her."

Legolas shrugged. "My father's kin are kin to her, though you are right that she is of a nobler time. What am I but a simple woodland prince, to one who possesses the Light of the West?"

"Simple prince—" Gimli spluttered, but he broke off quickly. "Are you teasing me?"

Legolas laughed: though grief still weighed heavily upon his heart, Lothlórien was a place where one felt free enough to indulge in some levity. "Yes, Master Gimli," he said. "I hoped we could put our past enmities behind us and be mature about whatever disagreements we may have. Our Fellowship has lost its guide, and we cannot afford to harbor resentments."

"I don't resent you," said Gimli, surprising him. "You were just...irritating. But now I see you are only a simple prince who cannot resist a bit of light mockery."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Now who is teasing who?" he demanded.

Gimli only smirked.

* * *

The Fellowship broke. Boromir was fallen, Sam and Frodo fled, Merry and Pippin captured. But Aragorn and Gimli remained by Legolas' side, and he by theirs, and from their friendship old and new he drew his strength.

Legolas was glad to fight by Aragorn's side once more—but as their time in Rohan stretched on, he was drawn further and further into his destiny as the Heir of Isildur. How strange that it was Aragorn, the mortal, whose life was laid out for him, and not Legolas himself. His father still believed, aromantic or not, that Legolas had his own destiny in store. Perhaps this was it, though Legolas increasingly felt superfluous to their quest, good only for his bow and daggers. Even silver-tongued Gimli had more influence upon their enemies and allies alike.

It was with Gimli he spent most of his time, now. In Helm's Deep they engaged in a contest of kills, and when he thought Gimli lost it distressed him more than he thought it would. Had he truly come to think so dearly of the dwarf? The realization shocked him, _and yet_ —

Each time Aragorn was too busy to grab a drink with them, each time Mithrandir, miraculously returned, got that faraway look in his eyes, each time Merry and Pippin fell asleep curled up next to one another... Legolas was left with Gimli, and he found he did not begrudge his company.

"What does that necklace signify?" Gimli asked him one night as they sat staring up at the stars. War had come, and yet it seemed distant in this moment, this last breath of peace before the coming storm. "The one you returned to Aragorn?"

"His love for Arwen Elrondiel," Legolas replied, remembering the sappy way they looked at one another with a mixture of fondness and revulsion. "The elleth to whom he has pledged his heart."

"Mm," Gimli said, nodding. "And you, Legolas? Have you an...elleth of your own?"

Legolas winced. He never got used to hearing that question, no matter how many times he was asked. "No," he replied. "I am...well, I am aromantic. I do not desire such things."

To Legolas' surprise, understanding lit in the eyes of his companion. "We dwarves have a word for that, also," he said. " _Bijebtorva_ , choosing craft. I have wondered if it applied to me, but...well. There is no dwarrow who has claimed my affections entirely, but there have been times where I am uncertain about...what it is I feel for a friend."

Legolas considered this, and the inner workings of his own heart. He had never told anyone about his confusion around Aragorn, not even Tauriel—but this was _Gimli_ , who shared words in Khuzdul with him like they were precious diamonds, who opened his mind to him when he didn't know how to ask.

"I understand," he found himself saying. "I have been...uncertain, also. With—" he blushed. "Do not tell him, I do not want to make things...awkward between us, especially since after all this time I know any, ah, _opportunity_ has passed—"

"Aragorn?" Gimli exclaimed, and chuckled. "Well! There are worse choices, I suppose. I bet he'd be properly handsome if he grew his beard out, and took a bath."

Legolas huffed, but there was no true offense behind it. "I don't dwell on it anymore. I know who I am, even if there are moments of doubt."

"Then perhaps I can know who I am, also," Gimli murmured. "Hm. Thank you, lad."

* * *

" _I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf."_

" _How about side by side with a friend?"_

Only they didn't die—they survived, and they _won_. Legolas had offered his friendship to Gimli, and he _meant_ it in his every word and action. And now they were together, all together, at last: the Fellowship reunited, save Boromir, gone from whence there could be no return.

It was in Fangorn Forest that he first took Gimli's hand, leading him through the dark woods, assuring him with a squeeze of his fingers that he was there, he would not abandon him. Afterwards he thought to himself: _Oh, dear._ But if he had been too forward—too much—too _romantic_?—Gimli said nothing, and when they walked through the Glittering Caves of Aglarond it was he who twined his fingers with Legolas, and he thought his heart would burst with joy and wonder, and not only from the breathtaking sights.

They shared moments like that: wordless, kind, gentle, warm. Legolas sneaked glances at his friend (each time he thought the word he _smiled_ , because it was a lovely sentiment, for the loveliest of dwarves) and caught Gimli looking at him with fondness, once or twice.

He returned home to the Greenwood, cleansed of evil for good, they all hope. His father was proud of him, overwhelmingly so: "I always knew you had a grand destiny before you, ion nîn!"

"Ada, I chose this," he reminded him. "I chose to join the Fellowship—and I am choosing to go to Ithilien." And later, beyond, to the sea...but he did not press that point, not yet.

Thranduil's smile faltered, but only for a moment. "You have your agency, Legolas. I will miss you, but you must follow your heart."

But Legolas' heart did not lie in Ithilien. It was torn between sea and stone, a longing for the music of the water matched only by the strange affection he bore for Gimli the Dwarf.

 _Is this romance?_ he wondered to himself. _Have I finally stumbled upon it, when I had at last stopped looking?_

But when he visited Gimli, and marveled at the jewel-encrusted halls he had crafted into the city of Aglarond, he knew it was not. It was something else, something that sat easily and lightly in his aromantic heart, something strange and wonderful he could not name.

Each time Gimli visited him in Ithilien, Legolas would almost bring it up—almost ask Gimli if he felt the same way—almost, almost, almost. There was always a lingering doubt that Gimli would look at him askance, or laugh, or tell him, _No, lad—and wasn't it you who helped me settle on being_ bijebtorva _? What do you want me to do now?_

And the truth is that Legolas _didn't know_ , except that he could not bear the thought of being sundered from Gimli forever when he departed across the sea. But dwarves were not permitted in Valinor, and they were mortal, though not in the same way Aragorn was mortal, and what could he do about that?

"Is it getting to you?" Gimli asked on such a visit. "The sea?"

He shuddered and faced his friend, his heart. "Yes and no," he admitted. "I...I want to go. I will wait, until Aragorn passes, I promised him that...but you will live past that, mellon nîn, and it tears my heart to think of leaving you."

Gimli laughed. "Then don't," he said.

Legolas smiled sadly. "It is not that easy. I thought you knew that."

"I don't mean stay here." Gimli waved a hand. "I mean, take me with you."

Legolas stared at him. "You are a dwarf," he said, "not an elf."

"So?" he asked, crossing his arms. "You told me your folk, your branch of the great elvish family tree, are not particularly drawn to the lands beyond the sea. Whatever has awoken within you is a strange exception. Why not add another queer thing to the ship that will carry you away?"

"Gimli," Legolas said tenderly, and he thought his heart could burst with love, "do you truly want to live in a land full of elves?"

"It is also the land where Mahal my Maker dwells," Gimli said. "And you claim that elves who die are born again, including the dwarf-friends of old—I imagine I could make friends with Celebrimbor and Felakgundu, to name only two."

"And me," Legolas pouted.

Gimli tugged him into an embrace, and Legolas could tell he had no intention of letting him go anytime soon. "Of course," he rumbled. "I'd be going for you. Legolas, I..."

"I love you," he blurted out, then clapped his hands over his mouth.

Gimli blushed. "I was about to say the same."

"I...but you...and I...!" Legolas squeaked. "We're...I am aromantic, you're _bijebtorva_ , I know that hasn't changed...and yet you would forsake all dwarfkind for me, follow me to a land none of your folk have gone, and—!"

Gimli shushed him. "None of that worrying nonsense," he said firmly. "We are who we are. I'm choosing this, choosing _you_ , as much as I choose my craft before whatever desire I might possess."

Legolas couldn't stop himself from weeping—he'd always been sentimental—and holding his dearest friend close, from now until the time they sail to Valinor together in a ship of their own making. His father might harp on about fate, but it was agency, not destiny, that bound them together, and Legolas would not have Gimli by his side any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/), and check out the [Tolkien Gen Week](http://tolkiengenweek.tumblr.com/) blog too!


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